


A Cold Fire

by astraria



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: City Elf, F/F, Fluff, Leliana - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-26 20:30:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6254815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astraria/pseuds/astraria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My interpretation of a Leliana/City Elf Warden romance, and how their bond begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Leliana showed up, Bel had thought the woman mad. She spoke of hearing the maker, of heeding his commands. The maker was a human god, and by that alone, not worthy of Bel's thoughts. Besides that, it was the human chantry, and their laws, that had bade Bel marry a man she knew she could never love. It was by a horrid twist of fate that she had been freed of him, but the damage that freedom had wrought was too profound to truly be a blessing. It had hurt too many in its wake. So Bel despised the chantry and it's laws, but whatever Leliana's beliefs she wanted to help, and she fought like nothing Bel had ever seen. She was quick on her feet and had wits to match, and while she stabbed and feinted she yelled encouragements or sang out chants that bolstered everyone around her, while they frightened and cowed the enemy.

She was, if nothing else, good to have around in a fight. And that was what Bel needed, as new leader of the Ferelden Wardens. Default leader. And leader of one, at that. When the nights grew long, she found herself sitting by Leliana, asking to hear another tale of Orlais – all glamour and sleight of hand, sharp and quick like the stilettos the bards carried – of the Wardens – full of bravery as they faced every demon imaginable, darkspawn and political – and, finally, of the Dalish. These tales, Bel coveted.

The city streets she had grown up on, which went from dusty to dank from season to season, had been full of elves. But they were cowed by the humans, lost to the old ways that Bel had dreamed of finding. That her mother had told her existed, somewhere out there in the forests outside the city. There was a freedom in the forests, of spirit and body, that the streets of Denerim could never give her. And so she asked Leliana to tell her story after story, of the elves of the woods, until she fell asleep by the fire to Leliana's lulling voice.

 

The night Leliana kissed her, on her cheek, as she lay an extra cloak over her ostensibly sleeping form, Bel felt a cold fire flare through her. What had been missing, with Nissa, with her betrothed, was here. She lay paralyzed before the fire, pretending that sleep still claimed here, as Leliana sat back and continued humming the tune she had been singing.

Zevran, across the fire, chuckled, and she heard him say low and lightly, “She's awake, you know,” But his words were sharp enough to cut through Leliana's song, her breath catching for just a moment before she replied,

“So? The night is cold asleep or awake.”

Bel opened her eyes and glared at Zevran, who grinned at them both before twisting onto his feet and waving his hands placatingly before disappearing into his tent. Bel sat up, holding the extra cloak around her, and glanced to Leliana beside her.

The silence was filled with the crackling of the fire, the wind through the trees about them, Bodhan's voice drifting over from his fire, some ways away. And of course, Alistair's droning snores, which broke the whole spell.

Still, the noisy quiet of night stretched long while Bel and Leliana pretended to contemplate the fire, while both their thoughts sped feverishly, searching backwards, thinking forwards.

Finally, Bel found the courage in her and she turned away from the fire, facing Leliana where she sat. It was just a kiss, after all. On the cheek, when she was asleep. It was friendly, that was all. Well, it was all it could be to Leliana.

“I should retire for the night. Dawn comes soon enough.” Bel said, but before she could turn away Leliana was on her feet, had grasped her hand, and looked as though she had been holding her breath and her words for too long not to let them out, and they came, when they did, in a terse calm that belied her wide-eyed expression,

“Belehra,” She said, holding onto the elf's petite hand which, nevertheless, gripped back with a fierce and unexpected strength, that served only to spur Leliana's words on, “You have been a light to me in the darkest of times. You know what it took from me, my time in Orlais,” Her accent and it's gentle consonants made Bel feel as though she was being wrapped in a soft blanket, kinder and warmer than the rough wool of the cloak draped around her shoulders. “You helped me, you helped me remember myself and my purpose, and you helped me overcome my past. Marjolaine... you know what she once meant to me. I thought I would never trust again, not completely, no matter what path the maker placed before me. But you...”

Belehra balked at the mention of the maker but hid her disappointment, this confession was beyond gods, beyond the beliefs that hounded their consciences. Bel thought Leliana would stop there, and that the silence would stretch forever, filled only by Alistair's blasted snores, and she moved to speak but found she could not, because Leliana's lips were pressed against her own. They were cold, chilled by the night air, but they were soft, and as Bel pressed her own against them she felt a warmth grow between them, the softness of Leliana's lips at first demanding, then hesitant, as Bel stood in shock. Leliana broke off just long enough for Belehra to realize she had not responded. She had stood there struck dumb, and only when Leliana pulled away did she realize she had a part to play here, too. She wrapped her arm around Leliana's waist and pulled her to her, simply enjoying the nearness of her, her pale skin, the taut armor shaped to her hips, her waist, as Bel pressed against her, her breath coming slow, the flower and spice scent of Leliana filling her mouth, her nostrils, as she breathed her in. Holding her was more important than anything, then, and she moved her other arm up Leliana's back, finally realizing that Leliana's hands had come to rest on Bel's shoulders, biting into them as if afraid she would back away.

Bel did just that, just barely, realizing how tightly she had been grasping Leliana. The wind breathed between them as Bel looked up at the kind-eyed red head above her. She moved her hand, more gentle this time, to Leliana's arm, traced her muscle up to her shoulder, followed the divet up her neck until her fist was buried in Leliana's flaming hair, and she found herself on her tiptoes, a tiny elf lunging for a goddess in the sky, who held her as tight as a precious star.


	2. The Wrong Choice (for the right reasons)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night before the final battle, the Warden must place her faith in Morrigan in order to save herself.

Then came the night before the their final battle. Morrigan approached Bel with a proposition. One that was truly meant for Alistair, a way to save one of the three surviving Grey Wardens from the death that awaited them. If she slept with Alistair, she could create a child, pure enough to hold the power of the archdemon once destroyed. This old ritual sounded, strangely, simple enough. Except for the task of convincing Alistair.

Alistair was slated, finally, to become king. He could not be wasted. Riordan had said he would take the killing blow, but who knew how many would die before they even reached the archdemon? Would she? The child was just another failsafe. She told herself this, as she left Alistair, who protested feebly but gave in to her persuasion at the last. She lay beside Leliana, the two whispering in the dark, trying to sleep before the day they both knew might be their last.

And Leliana said, in the face of Bel’s guilt for persuading her friend to have sex with a woman he despised, “You had your reasons, did you not? You always do.”

Bel gazed into Leliana’s bright eyes, sharp and alert and yet always, somehow, still kind. She tucked a strand of copper hair behind her loves ear, and said, “We still have some adventuring to do. Some world to see. You’re supposed to show me the intrigue of Orlais,” Leliana was not fooled, and Bel’s voice became softer, “I could not say no to something that might save me. It was greedy. I know that. I asked Alistair to do this less because he must survive to rule, and more because I… I cannot breathe when I think I might lose you. Even if I am protecting you with my own life. It was greedy, but I do not want to die. You are all that feels right in this world, and I want to be with you, as long as I can, no matter the price.” She stopped speaking, looking away from Leliana’s face, her gaze falling unseeing somewhere on the bedsheet between them, praying that this weakness, this greed that made her feel so full of shame even as it was powered by her love, would not make Leliana hate her.

Leliana was quiet for a moment, a silence broken only be moans from the room next door, moans that did not, at all, sound like a suffering heir. The two of them suddenly found themselves convulsed in giggles, and Leliana’s hands, calloused and yet gentle in their pressure, were against Bel’s cheeks, her lips pressed to the elves own smile, and when they parted Leliana whispered, a tone of relief saturating her voice, “At least Alistair is finally, as you say, getting some. Perhaps now he’ll grow out of those puppy dog eyes.”

Watching Leliana’s smiling face, feeling her soft lips, Bel knew that this had been the right choice, even without the moans and grunts emanating awkwardly from the room across the hall. Whatver happened tomorrow, the two of them had a fighting chance against the world. 


End file.
